Life is Fragile
by f-romanoff-13
Summary: Natasha has difficulty dealing with the death of a civilian during a mission [COMPLETE]


_So, I don't know where this came from, I was in the middle of writing an essay and this just demanded to be written, so I hope you enjoy it! ~ F_

* * *

The six of them sat and ate together in silence.  
The mission had been tough, it had been a long day; but they'd all made it back, relatively uninjured, and that was something to celebrate. Because it didn't happen often.

Tony had called ahead and the food was already waiting for them when they made it back from shield.

Clint watched at Natasha absentmindedly pushed her food round her plate, not really eating anything.  
She didn't notice when Tony started stealing food off her plate, or when Pepper hit him round the head for doing so.  
She didn't acknowledge the fact her teammates started excusing themselves from the table; long having since finished their own meals.  
And she didn't respond when they bid their goodnights as time passed them by.

One day gave way to the next, and the two assassins still sat silently at the table.

Suddenly conscious of Clint's gaze on her she lifted her fork to her mouth and took a small nibble at whatever it was she was supposed to be eating; not caring it had gone cold a long time ago. The food in her mouth made her want to throw up, but she forced herself to swallow it before looking up to face Clint.

"Natasha" he said softly, refusing to allow her to look away; he held her emerald gaze with his own blue eyes and she sighed. It was his own way of testing if she was ready to talk.

The walls Natasha had carefully constructed began to crumble. Her stern mask slipped out of place and she let Clint in.  
She hated people seeing her vulnerable; weak and exposed. Clint was the only one she ever allowed to get this close, and as silent tears rolled down her cheeks, he shifted his position; sitting face to face with his partner, the woman he cared for more than anyone else in the world; taking her hands in his and resting his forehead against hers; providing her with support and comfort without crowding her, and he waited patiently until she was ready.

Time passed, her breathing steadied and the tears subsided. Clint took this as his chance;

"There was nothing you could have done" he told her sadly, gently rubbing her back in a soothing motion; it was an act he did when nightmares plagued her nights, and she responded, leaning into his touch instead of shying away, and finally; she spoke

"It shouldn't have happened like that, if I'd only been faster, quicker; got there sooner. I should have fought harder, been better. I should have-"

"Natasha, don't do this to yourself. This wasn't your fault"

"That still doesn't make it right"

"Nothing will ever make it right Nat. But you're not the one to blame. The guy who did this is going to rot in a shield cell for the rest of his life"

"But-"

"Natasha, you will tear yourself apart if you keep this up. It was terrible, but it happened. And you've got to move on"

"She was a seven year old girl Clint, and she died in my arms!" she sounded close to tears again and began shaking his is arms.  
She was taking this harder than he thought; they had lost civilians before, they'd seen kids lose their lives; in Marrakesh, Afghanistan, Tokyo, Budapest... But never before had it affected her like this. Something had made this personal, but Clint hadn't figured it out yet.

"You didn't pull the trigger Nat, you can't blame yourself"

Natasha shuddered and closed her eyes as the memories of the days events replayed in her mind.  
In the midst of the battle against a small race of deadly robots; the orchestrator of this whole thing, a guy named Carlson, had spotted the Black Widow helping a group of children from their crashed school bus. He'd taken aim, fired and missed. He was a crap shot and for that a young girl lost her life.

Natasha had thought they were safe; there were no longer any robots in this area; she'd taken care of that and dispatched them quickly enough. Carlson was hiding, pretending to be one of the civilians caught up in panic, blending in. But seeing Natasha take out his robots so easily had made him angry, he wanted revenge, and he failed.

Aimee Jones had clung to Natasha with all her remaining strength as she bled out. She told Natasha how much she wanted to be like her when she grew up, telling her she was her hero and she'd always dreamt of meeting her. Aimee looked at her with awe and admiration, even as Natasha cradled the dying child in her arms and felt the blood soak through her suit. Just before she had died, Aimee had reached up to wipe a stray tear from Natasha's cheek, leaving a blood smear down her face.  
"Thank you" she had whispered moment before she passed away. Watching the life leave her eyes brought back memories Natasha had thought were long since buried; her childhood was littered with young girls losing their lives before they got a chance to live; closing their eyes never to open them again, last breaths and final farewells; all gone too soon. She thought she'd left that life behind, but she'd never truly escape. Not completely.  
The memories had overwhelmed her at that moment, flooding her mind and dragging her under. It was too much, and Natasha couldn't bare it.

Clint had found Natasha, covered in blood, and beating the absolute shit out of Carlson. She had to be restrained by Steve to prevent her from killing him there in the street, even if it was what he deserved.

Once Clint assessed Natasha wasn't injured; he found Aimee's body, carefully placed out of the way; lay peacefully to rest. He summed up the events by himself; Natasha hadn't been ready to talk about it then.

"I should have noticed... I should have-"

"None of us knew Nat, not a single one of us. Carlson was there to watch the whole mess unfold. We had no way to know the guy who sent an army of robots would be down in the thick of it. You did the best you could for her Nat. You gave her comfort in her final moments; there was nothing more to be done"

"What do you think she would have been?" Natasha asked suddenly, her voice was far off; still lost in thought.

"What do you mean?"

"If she'd gotten her shot, how do you think she'd have turned out? If I'd have been allowed my shot; I think I'd have been a ballerina. But Aimee looked smart; I think she would have been a scientist, maybe a doctor; she would have helped people"

"You can't dwell on that Natasha; you know how crazy you'll make yourself. Life is fragile, and all you can do is make the best of what's given to you. Aimee had seven good years, and before she died she got to meet her hero. Her hero who held her and soothed her and didn't leave her side. Her hero who stayed to speak to her parents; offered them comfort in the time they needed it most. You did good Nat"

"Don't- don't call me that"

"A hero? But you are Natasha. I know you don't see it, but you are"

"I just- I wish"

"I know Nat, me too"

She relaxed into his embrace and allowed him to hold her.

She'd make sure Carlson paid, and so would he. Because he was her partner and he always had her back.  
But also because they both knew Carlson deserved it, and Aimee deserved better.


End file.
